


Suit Up

by Azilver



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Dancing, Formalwear, M/M, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 10:46:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azilver/pseuds/Azilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every few months the PPDC decides it needs to put on a display of its pilots, to prove that they’re effective.<br/>The pilots are bored and Chuck just wants to get back to their hotel room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suit Up

**Author's Note:**

> Listened to [this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eR99ubyBCGE) and [this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_DzlYVFU8Oo) while writing, because the world needs more dancing Hansens!!!!
> 
> *****
> 
> Inspired by [this](http://pacificrimkink.livejournal.com/1613.html?thread=3054925#t3054925) prompt on the Kink Meme:  
> one of the best things i read on travis beacham's tumblr is that in lieu of sparring, another way to test drift compatability is dancing
> 
> and while i've definitely seen herc/chuck dancing in a club-type prompts, what i really want is a formal setting- tuxedos and fancy ball gowns. i have this idea that maybe the ppdc puts on fancy fundraising shindigs and one of the things they put on is a pilot-only dance. the way the pilots move perfectly in sync is quite incredible to watch, especially in the pairs (or triplets: i'd be super impressed if you included them somehow!) that you wouldn't expect graceful dancing from.
> 
> basically i just really need herc and chuck in tuxedos and maybe grumbling about how dumb it all is but in the end waltzing around looking perfect (◡‿◡✿)
> 
> and maybe ripping each other's tuxes off as soon as they're done (⊙‿⊙✿)
> 
> *****

They hate these things.

Every few months the PPDC decides it needs to put on a display of its pilots, to prove that they’re effective. Like the destruction of the Kaiju isn’t proof enough. So, they gather up their teams, stuff them in fancy suits and make them dance like trained monkeys for the rich and influential.

“Dancing,” Some old guy, with so many medals he clinks’ when he breathes deeply, says, “is one of the ways to demonstrate Jaeger co-pilot effectiveness. This evening, for your pleasure, our pilots will demonstrate for you.”

It’s not that Chuck hates dancing. It’s fun and it is a good excuse to see his dad all dressed up, though his fingers itch to rip off the bowtie and undo a few buttons. He just hates how fake it is, hates being dressed up and paraded around like a prized possession or whore. He doesn’t belong to any of the eyes on them, only to those blue eyes that see into his mind.

There are around 10 pilot pairs waiting and when they get the signal, they all line up with their partner, hand in hand, joined hands raised to shoulder height as they glide into the hall and onto the dance floor.

It’s a waltz, of course, and boring if you ask him. The only part he enjoys is being so close to Herc in public. The hand firm on his hip, hands clasped together, eyes locked. It’s a rush, like they’re getting away with something right in front of everyone’s noses.

They slow to a stop and the music ends. The audience applauds politely and the pilots take their seats. Chuck shrugs off his jacket and tugs out his tie, casting a look around.

They’re divided amongst two tables and it’s a good mix. It’s ridiculously PC with how they’ve tried to balance the pairs out. There are an almost equal number of tuxes as there are calf length black dresses. But for all the PPDC ‘nannies’ might try, there are still more same sex pairs than not. Part of the reason dad and he keep getting dragged into these things is the whole ‘father and son’ thing, they’re ‘safe’. Oh, if only they knew!

At the Hansen’s table are some American and Japanese pilots, as well as the Russians, everybody knows the Kaidanovskys. The other table plays host to the pilots from Lima, Panama and Hong Kong.

They’re not allowed anything but a glass of wine each and it shows how this sits with them. Even those who enjoy the stuff are pouting. Before swiping their compatriots’ alcohol. At least shit might get interesting at some point.

Sasha eyes the glass in front of her like if she glares at it hard enough it will bow to her superiority and change into something harder. Her husband isn’t much better, in fact, Chuck’s pretty sure he’s pouting. They probably fuel Cherno with pure Vodka!

Dad eyes his glass with a resigned look and sips it once before setting it down and shrugging out of his jacket. The slightest tightening of his lips indicated he didn’t enjoy it, not that Chuck would need to look. He can taste the gross sour-sweet-bitter on the back of his tongue the moment Herc swallows. They’re beer men and it doesn’t matter how ‘refined’ the stuff is supposed to be, it’s still rotten fruit juice at the end of the day.

They sit there waiting for this hell to end, the occasional brave socialite crossing over to flirt with the ‘dangerous’ pilots. A young one tries to get his attention but he’s distracted by the pull of the suit vest across Herc’s shoulders when he pushes up his sleeves. She tries again, cutting between their seats, cocking her hip to display the long line of bare leg through the ridiculously high slit in her dress.

Her voice is an annoying high whine in his ear and he’s forced to look up at her. Fuck manners if she thinks he’s giving her his seat or anything. It’s not the first time and he gets that he’s pretty hot himself but they seem to have it in their heads that he’s up for grabs. Like the hundreds of interviews where he states, firmly, that he isn’t interested right now (or ever, now that he’s got his dad, not like anyone could ever compete) don’t mean a thing.

“Lookit, Sheila,” He waves dismissively and pushes the Aussie drawl hard, knowing it makes him sound stupid as a post and annoys the hell out of her type. “Unless you’ve got a longneck and handle in those togs, I’m giving you a flick, yeah?”

He can’t help but grin when he sees his dad’s cheek twitch holding in his laughter as she flounces off. As if there was any doubt who’s bed he’d be in tonight.

Suddenly the music screeches to a halt, clicks and there’s an altogether different beat. He sees one of the new pilots, a Chinese guy he thinks watching as two others identical to him trip and giggle onto the dance floor, grabs the mic, “Come on, let’s show them what we got, yeah?” He yells.

The beat picks up, hard and fast. The civvies stand around, affecting looks of shock and indignation, but they’re pilots and after another night of shitty company and a serious lack of decent booze, this is just fun.

With a booming laugh Alexis sweeps Sasha up and the pair are followed by the other pilots who all begin to dance. Some just dance but most adopt some other form. Chuck sees more than one team start an energetic version of Swing and Boogie, while the triplets are mixing up what looks like some form of movie cheerleading and break dancing. He thinks the pair from Lima is doing some sort of punk salsa? He’s not sure but he doesn’t think it usually has so much bouncing.

Amused, he casts a questioning look over at his dad. Herc is watching the scene with a raised eyebrow. His dad’s a lifer, military born and bred; he’s not supposed to appreciate shit like this. So, he manages to surprise his son for the first time in ages when he meets his gaze and winks, loosens his bowtie and glides into the display. Chuck is so dumbstruck that his dad, HIS DAD, would dare that it takes an eyebrow raised in his direction to get him moving.

There, they stand back to back and as the bass picks up they stamp their heels and roll their hips, not needing to look at each other. He raises his hand over his head and Herc’s fingers thread through his. They step forward, back, forward and Herc spins them round. Their hands remain connected.

Herc slides his loose hand around his waist and its second nature to place his other on his dad’s shoulder. He knows without asking how to move and where and a smug part of him realises that if they had wanted to show off pilot compatibility and fuck with people this is how they would have danced the first time round.

At first it’s all about the movement of their legs, matching and meeting steps. Chuck doesn’t even care that he’s in the traditionally ‘female’ role- fuck gender stereotypes! This isn’t about anyone else but them, like it should be. There’s the slightest drop in the beat and dad spins him so he’s relying on him to hold him up.

It’s thrilling, a rush. It’s the most fun they’ve had since they got the memo.

Herc lifts him close, slides them for a moment before tilting him to his feet. The music isn’t right for this but as long as they’re together they can bend any rhythm to their desires- like their heartbeats syncing in Striker, creating a rhythm to fight to.

They move around the other dancers, all of them slipping around each other like water. It’s easy, fluid.

He trusts how Herc moves and, in turn, he trusts Chuck.

Chuck lifts a leg and hooks it round his dad’s thigh, letting him pull him back. A hand lifts his thigh and they rock back a step.

He’s all but unaware of their audience, the society ladies watching with rapt attention following their every move while clutching their hands and glasses, chests heaving with each sharply drawn breath. The men attempting to look uninterested but still drawn to the moving of bodies, some following the female pilots’ skirt and necklines, others the fit of slacks and shirts across thick muscle.

They wish they were Herc. They wish they were him. They’re not.

They keep a distance between them; just enough for proprieties sake, but the strength in Herc’s body as he lifts Chuck against his side is ridiculously hot.

Like he can read Chuck’s mind (and at this point who’s to say he can’t?) Herc smiles wickedly. Chuck can’t help but respond in kind. And in between another spin and catch they’re smiling and laughing and it’s like the best thing since they last kissed.

Later, when the music stops, the pilots will turn and bow before leaving. Back in their room, when the sound of the others’ party is loud through the floor, they’ll kiss, make out, until Chuck pushes Herc back onto the bed. He’ll make a show of stripping off, dancing for the pleasure of only one person. Naked, he’ll climb into his dad’s lap and enjoy being fucked stupid while Herc is still in his suit.

Right now they’ll dance and laugh, together.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from Pacific Rim. I do not claim any ownership of the characters or world, I am just borrowing them and this story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line.


End file.
